Advice to live by, don’t you think? 👊😎👍
Advice to live by, don’t you think? 👊😎👍
A bit of a personal post today. A chance to vent, perhaps. Or just a chance to clarify what I’m feeling right now. And what is that?
The weight of the impossible.
Yeah. Sounds big, doesn’t it? The weight of the impossible? But that’s what it is because, silly me, that’s what I feel driven to achieve.
My choice, my doing, no one to blame but me. I know how high and difficult the climb is and yet I choose to continue. Choose to sacrifice and struggle for the smallest of steps forward. And we’re talking painfully small steps here. Like, laughably small.
And, no, this isn’t one of those “woe is me”-type of deals. Not at all. It is, like I said, a chance to vent and/or clarify what’s making my mood so heavy these days.
The weight of the impossible. I like that phrase. I don’t like how that phrase feels as I live it, but I like the heft of it as I write it. The solidity of the sentence. The cadence and rhythm. It’s a memorable phrase that perfectly captures my present journey.
And, honestly, it’s not like I’m the first doing what I’m trying to do. Thank god! This road is teeming with those who’ve walked before me. Who’ve struggled, fought, failed, fallen, stood up and eventually succeeded. Everywhere I look I see shining examples of the impossible having been done.
Right now, though, I’m surrounded by silence with no clue as to whether or not my efforts are known or seen or appreciated. I think “Yes” but I don’t know. Obviously, and I’m calling a spade a spade here, today is one of those days where the candle flickers and the dark grows darker and the doubt grows deeper.
But I still march on. Like a man in a long tunnel surrounded by deepest, darkest black who keeps putting one foot in front of the other because he knows without a doubt, with a faith that goes beyond reason or present reality, that there is an end, a fantastic end, and if he keeps walking he’ll find it.
So I keep writing, breaking down my long-term goals into shorter term bite-size achievable chunks — I’m somewhat famous for my email bullet lists, by the way — and doing what I can to move forward. Or even just stay where I am because the worst is to slide back. And today, for whatever reason, feels like a day where I slid back. At least in my head.
So, I dig in my heels, narrow my focus and just keep going. Keep pushing. Even if the push is imperceptible and the reward is negligible. Even if what I do now won’t show a result weeks, months, even years down the road, if at all, I just do what I can from where I am. Because that’s all I can do.
But you know what would help?
A Yes. An “I hear you.” Or “you’re on my radar.” A “I like your work.” A nod — not even an answer, but a simple nod — that lets me know I’m on the right path. That I’m moving in the right direction. An acknowledgement that would help me find the spark to click Send on yet another email or to dial the phone for yet another unanswered call or make another bullet point list that might never be seen or discussed.
That, any of those really, would be the light shining far, far at the end of the tunnel telling me to keep walking.
See, this, right here, this is what the weight of the impossible does. It tests your faith. Dips you low so you can climb back out. Strengthens your resolve. Allows you to flirt with the possibility of failure knowing that your desire for a different result is stronger. That, even unheard or unseen or unacknowledged, you will fight on, keep pressing, keep asking, introducing, discussing. You’ll keep making those lists and getting the words on the page and brainstorming ways to carve out a space to help make the impossible possible.
But here’s something else I’ve learned: we’re not designed to carry the weight of the impossible by ourselves. This burden is designed to be shared.
And, now that I think about it, that’s what I’m feeling. The need to share what I’m creating with others. Build my dreams with people. I feel like it’s time to stop traveling this road by myself. To stop walking this alone.
Yeah, now that I think about it, that’s exactly what I need.
See? Clarity. I knew there was a reason to write this post. 🙂
Even if my life feels like
and I’m all
I’m still gonna close my eyes, find my courage, jump feet first and
because, hey, if I do nothing, that’s what I get:
And that’s, like, the exact opposite of what I want.
So I gotta
Interesting lesson I learned today: listening is important.
Let me explain.
Every day, come rain or shine, I take a walk through the nearby park. Shake the dust off. Get away from the computer screen and all those words, words, words I’ve been banging out since the sun came up. You know, just get out and clear my head.
And, on these walks, I’m known to take a moment — a small minute, really — to share a Hello or How are you with those somewhat familiar faces I see, come rain or shine, lingering around, lying on the grass, sleeping on the benches.
Now, granted, many (most? all?) of those faces are homeless and battling addiction and/or psychosis. And many, if not all, of them have been forgotten by those they loved because — and I’m guessing here — of the choices they made. Choices usually driven by addiction, psychosis, hopelessness.
So my kind words, my taking that moment to say Hello and ask How are you? and truly, sincerely listen to what they say may be the only kind word or moment of attention they get that day.
But that’s not the lesson I learned.
On my walk today I ran into a familiar face I hadn’t seen in awhile — not unusual for those faces to disappear, by the way – but this once was clean shaven and sober and HAPPY!
So, after exchanging quick pleasantries, he then said “You changed it for me, man. You took the time, said Hello, wanted nothing, nothing, from me and you were cool. And I thought, Well, fuck, if that cool guy is cool with me, maybe there’s hope. And once I realized there could be hope, I don’t know, man, I got my shit together and just changed it, man. I just changed it. So, thank you.”
Of course I deflected his praise. Reminded him that if anyone changed his direction, it was him. And to keep going. Keep making wise choices. Keep building on his success, however small it might feel. But he’d made a good point. A great point, really.
Which is this…
You never know what will change someone’s life. You never know what will be the one thing, the one small seemingly inconsequential thing, that pushes the Pause button long enough for them to stop and think and reconsider their next choice. And then, because of that small break in the cycle, that pause, that breath, move in a different direction.
It can be as easy as listening to their story. Acknowledging their pain. Agreeing that, yeah, it sucks and, shit, wouldn’t it be nice to get a break? It could be something as simple as treating them with respect and kindness and patience no matter how deep their illness or how drunk or high they are or how clearly their psychological wounds are still weeping. Taking that moment to just be there, for just a moment, might be enough to kickstart them to a better place.
Do not underestimate the power of sincerely listening when you ask “How are you?” It could change a life.
When’s the last time you talked with someone? Really talked, I mean. Exchanged thoughts, shared ideas. Discovered common ground. Danced around areas of disagreement.
When’s the last time you listened? Really listened, I mean. Not formulated a response while their lips made words, waiting for your turn to jump in and make your own words because that’s what you felt like you should do. And that if you didn’t say something, anything, you wouldn’t be “interesting.”
In other words, when’s the last time you had a real conversation?
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. When you’re a writer whose days are spent at a keyboard — peppered occasional with brief forays into the Wonderful World of Spoken Words because of business meetings or conference calls or whatnot — these are the kinds of thoughts that ramble through your head. And I’ve come to the realization that to stumble into a real, honest to goodness conversation is worth its weight in gold.
Because there’s something inherently human about that connection. Something deeply necessary for our spirit and our soul. Sharing yourself, putting your ideas, thoughts, beliefs into words and finding common ground with someone else can be the soothing balm that eases the choppy waters of a rough day.
A simple conversation is priceless.
Conversation is where friends are made, loves are discovered, inspiration is found and balance is restored. Conversation is where you reconnect to those lost parts of yourself. Conversation is one of the rare times in life where you need not walk alone.
To have a discussion — which is different than talking — is opening the door to learning. Listening — which is different than hearing — is where you walk through that door and settle into a room of new possibility.
And that’s one thing I suspect people still don’t get.
You learn more by listening than you do by talking. You learn more by paying attention to not only what’s said and how it’s said — body language, inflection, pauses and hesitation — but also in what isn’t being said.
And that’s where the real truth lies. In the words not used. In the words not spoken. In the words they don’t yet have the courage or self-awareness to say.
But you lose these discoveries if you’re too busy talking. And, generally, we all tend to talk too much. So stop. Just stop it. Really. It’s unnecessary.
Because while your mouth’s a’movin’, you’re missing the important stuff. The courage being found and the truths being shared. The brave breakthroughs and the baring of the wounded soul. While your mouth’s a’movin’, you’re missing the chance to stop and listen and, with your quiet kindness and patient grace, maybe change a life.
Think about it.
Sometimes all that’s needed is your silence and your sincerity. And sometimes, just sometimes, when you’re quiet and listening, you truly hear what’s being said — and not being said.
And that’s where the real conversation lies. That’s where the connection needs to be made.
So, the next time you find yourself striking gold with a real, honest to goodness conversation, stop, listen, watch, hear with your heart and your soul and have the courage, with your silence, to say “Talk to me.”
You’ll be a better person because of it.
Honest. Satirical. Observations.
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